Canaries
by La Fille Avec Le Stylo
Summary: She had intended on telling him how she felt, but he had other plans in mind. Such as snogging Lavender Brown. Oneshot.


Hermione was screaming with joy, her voice one of hundreds that were contributing to a deafening din which echoed over the Hogwarts ground and reverberated in the nearby mountains. Gryffindor had _won_, and Harry, Ron and Ginny had all played _beautifully_! Still clapping and screaming in excitement, she joined the horde of students carefully exiting the Quidditch pitch and making their way towards the castle.

Hermione felt like she was on top the world. It was a Gryffindor victory again! _Harry's a brilliant captain,_ she thought to herself, _and Ron was amazing. _She smiled at the image of the boy she fancied darting around in front of the goal hoops as if he'd been doing it his whole life, saving goal after goal with apparent ease.

_Tonight,_ she decided in her ecstatic delirium, _I'll tell him how I feel. _And with this thought in mind, Hermione skipped her way back to the Gryffindor common room.

When she arrived the party was already in full swing. Her fellow housemates were still screaming themselves hoarse at the outcome of the match, cheering for Ron and cheering for Gryffindor. Hermione smiled to see Ron getting some attention, he was so often overshadowed by Harry. She began making her way across the crowded common room, hoping to take Ron aside and tell him how she felt. She wanted to tell him how much she fancied him, and how she'd fancied him for years, and how she thought he was The One... _but I don't want to scare him off,_ she reminded herself. _Play it cool, Hermione._

Hermione was nearly there when it happened. Lavender Brown and Ron- _her Ron_- were snogging. Snogging in front of the whole of Gryffindor. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks and watched, horrorstruck, for a few seconds before turning on her heel and sprinting as fast as she could towards the portrait hole.

Hermione slumped against the wall of an empty classroom and slid to the floor. She closed her eyes to prevent the tears she knew were coming, but all she saw was Ron and Lavender tangled in each others' arms, and so she opened them again.

_Why?_ she thought. _Why does Lavender have to fancy him, too? Why didn't I act sooner? Why didn't I tell him before?_ The tears were falling freely now. _There were signs!_ she thought desperately. _He fancied me! I know- I _thought_ he fancied me. How-_ Hermione's thoughts became incoherent as she broke down into body- wracking sobs.

She hated him, and she hated Lavender, and she hated Harry for not stopping them, and she hated Quidditch, and she hated Hogwarts, and she hated the world, and she hated herself more than she hated the lot. She hated herself for not being good enough for him, for whatever shortcomings she had. She hated herself for being so clearly repulsive and unwanted, and for being so disgusting that Ron didn't want her. She hated herself for being a teacher's pet, because maybe that's why Ron didn't want her. She hated herself for not being Lavender Brown.

Hermione was not a violent person by nature, but at that moment she felt like punching somebody. The thought of punching Draco Malfoy crossed her mind and made her smile weakly, but the smile was soon replaced by a mask of grief.

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to walk right into that common room and tell him exactly what his snogging Lavender Brown had done to her. She wanted to hex Lanvender Brown, and Ron, too, at that. She wanted to die, and she wanted to take Lavender Brown down with her.

Hermione sniffed, her tears now subsiding a bit. She would not, she knew, do any of these things. Even if it were in her nature to do them, she was too depressed to do anything at the moment. She wiped her face on her sleeve and began casting some simple spells at random, a practice which had been known to calm her in the past.

_He's a git,_ she told herself, _and you deserve better than some idiot who'd rather snog Lavender Brown than you._ She ignored the small voice in the back of her mind which retaliated, pointing out that while she may _deserve_ better, she was still in love with Ron. Hermione began casting harder spells and with more rigor in an attempts to silence this voice, but no matter what she did she could only see Ron snogging the wrong girl.

Hermione sighed and fought, once again, not to cry. She waved her wand in a complicated pattern and produced a number of canaries which promptly took flight, but still her mind's eye saw only _them._ Hermione watched the pretty birds fly above her head, reveling in their newfound existence, and promptly broke down into a fresh wave of tears.


End file.
